


forget the bottle

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22621801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt encounters a monster and can't stop crying. Jaskier is there for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 608





	forget the bottle

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier had never seen Geralt cry before. He wondered if he could even do it. Could Witchers cry? He wasn’t sure and he certainly wasn’t about to _ask_. Geralt would probably tear him limb from limb just for asking and he liked his limbs, thank you very much.

He assumed he’d die - literally - before he ever saw Geralt cry and that might’ve been the way of things if Geralt hadn’t been approached by a man while they were staying in a town.

He was an old man with dark circles and graying hair, from age and nothing else. Jaskier sat up a little straighter when he approached their table in the rundown tavern, wringing his hands.

“You’re - you’re the Witcher, right?” he asked, eyes darting all over the place.

“He is,” Jaskier answered for him, ignoring Geralt’s pointed look. “Do you have a job for him?”

The man nodded, shuffling closer. “There’s - there’s a monster that won’t leave our property,” he explained, looking oddly guilty. Jaskier brushed it off without a second thought; he was probably just second guessing his decision to ask for help from a Witcher. “He’s terrorizing us, making our lives a living Hell. So please, Witcher.”

Geralt leaned forward, extending a hand silently.

The man startled, looking confused for the briefest of seconds, before he pulled a pouch out of his pocket. He dropped it in Geralt’s open palm. Jaskier could tell, even from his spot, that the pouch was heavy, bulging with coins.

“I’ll do it,” he said, and the man smiled tiredly.

“Thank you, Witcher,” he said, bowing. “Thank you so much, you don’t - ”

Geralt stood up, knocking his chair back, and the man straightened, looking startled, like he expected Geralt to hit him or something. Jaskier frowned. Apparently his songs hadn’t entirely improved Geralt’s reputation. He would need to write more, and soon.

“Take me to your home,” he said and the man nodded quickly.

Jaskier stood up and grabbed his bag, following Geralt and the man out of the tavern. It was almost night, the sun setting low in the trees. They walked through the town and stopped at what looked like a farm with a few cottages littered about.

“Can you explain what the monster looks like?” he asked.

The man was looking around like he expected it to jump out of the dark. “It’s - it’s not what you expect,” he said finally. “It’s… not ugly. It’s - it’s a trick,” he explained quickly.

Jaskier wasn’t really listening. He was more focused on watching Geralt’s reactions. His eyebrows drew together as he listened. “I’m assuming it mostly strikes at night?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” the man replied. “Um, can I - ” He pointed vaguely at one of the cottages, and Jaskier noticed his hand was trembling. Even he knew that wasn’t a good sign.

“Go on,” Geralt said gruffly, and the man turned and ran to the cottage. He ran fast for an old man, disappearing inside the cottage and closing the door seconds later.

Jaskier hummed, looking around lazily. “So - ”

“ _So_ ,” Geralt interrupted sharply. “You should go join him.”

Jaskier pouted, placing his hands on his hips. “I can take care of myself,” he reminded him. “You’ve been teaching me a few things, remember?” He reached down and pulled his dagger out of his boot, spinning it a few times just to show off.

Geralt hadn’t shown him that. He’d practiced it on his own time.

“Yes, for protection against vile _humans_ ,” Geralt reminded him. “You stand no chance against most of the monsters I encounter, Jaskier.”

Jaskier frowned, shoulders slumping. Geralt sighed.

“That’s not an insult,” he added gruffly. “I’m trying to protect you, bard.”

Jaskier sighed loudly. He knew Geralt really was just trying to protect him and that was the irritating part. He couldn’t rightfully argue him on that. “I’ll be waiting,” he said tersely, turning down the path to the cottage. “So don’t take too long.”

Geralt hummed in mild amusement. He waited until Jaskier was safely tucked away in the cottage before focusing on his surroundings. The sun was fully hidden behind trees, casting the whole farm in darkness. Thankfully it was no problem with his enhanced senses.

He reached up and unsheathed his sword, the heaviness in his hand a comfort, grounding him. Geralt watched and waited, eyes darting to every sound and movement.

It was a farm, though, so most of what he ended up seeing were just farm animals or their natural predators, mostly wolves, who were immediately scared off by his presence.

Good thing, too, because he didn’t feel like fighting a wolf on top of everything.

Finally he heard something that didn’t sound natural, an odd whistling. Kind of like wind mixed with an instrument. Geralt squared his shoulders and soon a creature stepped out of the woods.

The man had been right - the monster wasn’t ugly, not like most. It stood tall and looked like it was covered in flowers. Geralt admittedly did not recognize it and _that_ was irritating. He rarely discovered monsters he didn’t know.

He pointed his sword at it. “I’ll give you a choice,” he said, voice even, “leave now or - ”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before the monster was lunging at him. Geralt jumped back, digging his heels into the dirt, and frowned. The monster stood a few feet away, staring him down. It had beady dark eyes surrounded by flowers.

“Intimidation won’t work,” he remarked dryly.

The monster lunged at him again and Geralt aimed for its middle, slicing through the meat of the monster with relative ease. He jumped back and watched as the monster fell with a thud, slowly turning to dust, filling the air and twirling around Geralt.

He coughed, shaking his head, and shook his sword off before sheathing it.

At least it’d been an easy kill for a lot of money.

Turning away, he trudged up the path to the cottage. He didn’t even have to knock; the door was thrown open by Jaskier, who looked him up and down. “Oh, thank the Gods,” he said. “You’re okay.”

“The monster barely even put up a fight,” he replied. “Come on, bard.” He hadn’t gotten blood on him, at least, but he still always felt dirty after a fight. “I need a bath.”

The man popped his head out from around the corner. “Thank you, Witcher,” he said. “Oh, thank you.”

Geralt grunted as he turned away and started back down the path. Jaskier smiled politely at the man before dashing after him, catching up. They were almost at the bottom when the man yelled down after them:

“Please, be careful!” he said. “I’m sorry!”

Jaskier froze, looking over at Geralt. “Why would he say that?”

Geralt simply shrugged. “Who cares?” he replied dryly. “Hurry up.”

Well, if Geralt wasn’t worried, Jaskier wasn’t. He trusted his judgment.

-

They walked back to the inn and Jaskier stayed in the room, idly fiddling with his lute, while Geralt washed off. He didn’t start to get worried until it’d been almost thirty minutes and Geralt still hadn’t showed up.

Frowning, he gently placed his lute aside and left the room. He caught sight of the innkeeper and waved her down.

“Have you seen, um, you know - ”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t think he’s left the bath yet,” she answered and Jaskier ignored the pit of worry in his stomach, weighing him down.

“Okay,” he said, smiling tightly. “Thank you.”

Turning away, he walked - okay, _ran_ \- down the hall and stopped in front of the washroom. He cleared his throat. “Geralt?”

He heard rustling and splashing but no answer. Jaskier’s stomach lurched.

“Geralt, if you don’t answer, I’m coming in,” he said. He waited two seconds before he pushed the curtains out of the way and walked in. Geralt was sitting in the bath, his back to the entrance. “Geralt?” he asked, confused on why he hadn’t answered if he was there, and seemingly okay.

That’s when he noticed something odd: Geralt’s shoulders were trembling.

“Geralt,” he breathed, rushing forward. He assumed he was in pain of some kind. He crouched beside the tub, eyes wide with worry. That’s when he noticed something even more concerning: Geralt’s cheeks were wet and not just from bathwater.

Geralt lifted his head and sniffed loudly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s - it’s nothing,” he said, gruff. “I’m just - ”

“Are you _crying?_ ” he asked, genuinely unsure.

Geralt glared at him and he noticed his eyes were bloodshot, a little puffy, and oh, Gods, he’d actually been crying. Jaskier had never seen him cry before; he stayed there, crouching and silent, for an embarrassing amount of time.

“No, no,” Jaskier said finally, panicking. He stood up. “Come on, you can’t just wallow in the bath forever.” He offered him a hand, which Geralt predictably ignored as he stood up and stepped out of the tub.

He dried off and pulled on his clothes, following Jaskier to their room.

Jaskier closed the door and turned, leaning against it. Geralt was sitting on the bed and tears just kept streaming down his face, nonstop. He didn’t even seem that upset; they just wouldn’t _stop_.

“Are - are you okay?” he asked lamely.

Geralt grunted, scrubbing at his face. “I don’t know why they won’t stop,” he said and his voice was thick, a little wobbly.

“Um, are you… sad?” he asked, treading carefully.

Geralt frowned. “Maybe,” he answered finally.

“Um, okay,” Jaskier said, stepping away from the door. “We can work with that. You’re just having an emotional surge or something.”

Geralt looked up at him. His lips were pressed together, tight. “I don’t _do_ emotional surges, Jaskier,” he said roughly. “Something’s going on.”

Jaskier nodded and sat on the bed. “Okay, like that?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped and the tears were pouring like waterfalls down his face and he growled, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

Jaskier grabbed his hands, holding them. “Okay, stop that before you hurt yourself.”

“Jaskier, I think that monster did something to me,” he said and he almost sounded nervous.

He nodded slowly, still holding his hands. “Okay, okay, um.” He took a deep breath and stood up. Geralt went with him, their hands still curled around each other. “We can just ask the farmer. Maybe he knows something.”

Geralt seemed doubtful but he nodded and followed Jaskier.

-

Jaskier knocked on the door to the cottage and knocked and _knocked_. He was starting to think the farmer wasn’t going to answer when finally the door opened, just a crack. The farmer got one look at Geralt’s face and guilt flashed in his eyes.

“You _do_ know something,” Jaskier accused. “Tell us everything.”

The farmer frowned, opening the door all the way. “Come in, but be warned… you probably won’t like what I’m going to say.”

He led them into a small living room, just a couch and a table and gestured for them to sit. Jaskier sat on one end of the couch but Geralt, predictably, stayed standing, arms folded over his chest.

“Spit it out,” he growled, and the farmer startled, looking anywhere but at their faces.

“The - the monster, um… Whenever it showed up and one of us went too close to it, this - ” he gestured at Geralt without looking up “ - happened to them.”

Geralt growled, low in his throat, and stepped forward threateningly. The crying probably didn’t help his whole intimation tactic, though. “What do you mean _this_?” he asked.

The farmer sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “It made all their emotions, the bad ones, rise to the surface or something. I - I don’t know.” He looked up. “But it’ll pass.”

Jaskier was relieved to hear that, at least, but Geralt evidently was not.

“How long?” he asked gruffly. “And what do you mean _bad_ emotions?”

The farmer grimaced. “Usually twenty four hours, but it might be different for - for a Witcher,” he quickly added.

Geralt turned away, shoulders shaking with both tears and anger. Jaskier took over the conversation. “Okay, and, uh, the other thing?”

“Not anger,” the farmer replied. “Or anything like that. Just… all the bad emotions. Like sadness and regret. It gets worse before it gets better, but - ”

Geralt stomped off without a word and Jaskier flinched at the sound of the cottage door being slammed shut. He stood up and stared at the farmer for a moment. “You should’ve warned him,” he said simply before he turned away, following after Geralt.

He found Geralt at the bottom of the hill. Jaskier approached him like he would a wounded animal, slow. “Geralt?”

“Fuck, Jaskier!” he cursed loudly, causing a few birds to fly out of nearby trees, squawking as they entered the air and flew to safety.

Jaskier stopped a couple feet away. “He said it’d pass, Geralt…” he tried, but the words sounded flat even to his own ears.

“And what am I supposed to do until - ” Geralt started, turning toward him. He cut himself off with a sob and covered his mouth. “Fuck, why am I remembering _that_ \- ” he gasped, muffled by his hand.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do. The problem with never seeing a crying Geralt was not knowing how to comfort him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, approaching him. He expected Geralt to push him away or yell or do _something_. He didn’t. Jaskier didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign. He gently touched Geralt’s arm. “Come on.”

-

They walked back to the inn. Geralt sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and - _fuck_ \- hugging a pillow. He was crying, biting back sobs, and trembling. Jaskier watched helplessly for the first couple of hours until the sobs got louder and Geralt couldn’t even form words to answer his questions.

“Geralt, please,” he said, joining him on the bed and rubbing his back. “Just - just tell me what to do.”

He decided, in that moment, he was glad he’d never seen a crying Geralt before because his heart was breaking at the sight. Geralt buried his face in the pillow, taking a gasping breath. “I - I don’t know what’s happening,” he said, muffled heavily. “It’s like - I’m suddenly remembering, no - _feeling_ all this stuff I - I thought I’d gotten over.”

Geralt was rarely so open with Jaskier - or anyone, frankly - and Jaskier was not going to take it for granted. He slowly wrapped his arm around Geralt’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Geralt went limply, sniffling and cursing at himself.

“Fuck, this is so _fucked_. It just won’t _stop_.”

Jaskier rubbed his arm. “It’s the monster, Geralt,” he reminded him gently.

“It’s not,” he replied sharply. “All this shit, Jaskier - it’s my own emotions. And I feel like - I can’t fucking _breathe_.”

Jaskier nodded, unsure what to say. He turned his head and buried his face in Geralt’s hair. He kissed his head, softly, wondering if he could feel it. If he did, he didn’t react, good or bad. Geralt was shaking his arms almost violently and, true to the farmer’s word, he didn’t stop.

Finally Jaskier cleared his throat. “Do you want to… talk about any of it?”

Geralt froze for a split second before relaxing again. Well, the most he could. He sniffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I know this probably won’t come as a surprise but I’m… I’m known for burying… _complicated_ emotions, which are most of them, frankly.”

Jaskier laughed, wet and thick. He hadn’t even realized he was tearing up himself. He didn’t even know why, really, just that the sight of Geralt, a man he usually saw as so strong and invincible, crying in his arms was pulling at his heartstrings.

“And I - fuck, I don’t know. It’s just all hitting me at once and it’s - ” Geralt cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “It’s the worst fucking feeling in the world.”

Jaskier rubbed his arm, waiting to see if he would say anything else.

“I’m upset with my mother for abandoning me when I was a child,” he said finally, starting Jaskier. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I was a fucking _kid_ , Jaskier, and all I wanted was my family. And the others became my family, eventually, but - ” Geralt closed his eyes, a few extra tears escaping. “It still wasn’t enough.”

Jaskier just continued to rub his arm, offering a silent comfort.

“And the Child Surprise… I feel guilty about her _all the time_.”

Jaskier froze a bit at the mention of the Child Surprise, knowing that Geralt had blamed him for it at one point. Maybe not anymore, but still. He felt his own spark of guilt.

“And then Renfi, fuck,” Geralt cursed loudly, startling Jaskier. “I should’ve known what she was planning and I should’ve been able to stop it, _all of it._ ” The tears were still streaming down his face even in the face of his anger. “I should’ve _known_.”

“And then - and then - ” Geralt let out a gasp/sob, “I fucking pushed _you_ away because I was being fucking cowardly and I - I regret that, Jaskier,” he looked at him. “I regret that every day.”

Jaskier reached up and cupped his face, because what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Geralt seemed surprised, but he didn’t push him away. Jaskier took a deep breath.

“Geralt, you are a good person,” he said, meaning it. “You care _so much._ ”

Geralt swallowed around a sob. “Do I?” he asked, and his voice was dripping with self-hatred: an emotion Jaskier knew all too well. He hid his own self-hatred, too, but in different ways, burying it under a rowdy persona and hoping no will see through the cracks.

“You do,” he confirmed. “You care so much if you left yourself feel every little thing you’d never be able to get out of bed.” Geralt cracked the tiniest of smiles and Jaskier took it as a win, barreling on, “I’m not just saying any of this, Geralt. I mean it.” He stroked his thumb across Geralt’s cheek, brushing away a few tears. “Do you believe me?”

Geralt stared into his eyes. Jaskier waited, not wanting to push. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “But I want to.”

“Well,” Jaskier said and his voice was thick with tears, “I’ll tell you every day if I have to, until you believe me.” Geralt snorted, looking away, and Jaskier released his face. “Feeling better?”

He didn’t wait for Geralt’s reply because–

“Geralt,” he said, cupping his face again. “The tears stopped.”

Geralt blinked once before he reached up and wiped his eyes. The back of his hand came back wet but his cheeks were dry, no fresh tears pouring from his eyes. He let out a surprised huff of laughter. “It’s barely been four hours. I don’t understand.”

“I think I do,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. “You do?”

“You confided in me, Geralt,” he said, soft. “I think that’s the trick to undoing it.”

Geralt stared at him, silent, for a long moment. “That’s fucked,” he said finally and Jaskier laughed wetly, nodding.

“Is it just the tears or - are you feeling okay?”

Geralt took a deep, shuddering breath and squared his shoulders. “Yeah. I think so.” He glanced at Jaskier, looking almost shy. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier reached up and patted his cheek, smiling warmly. “You shouldn’t bottle up your emotions so much,” he chided gently.

“I’m not sure I know how _not_ to,” he replied gruffly.

Jaskier hummed. “No rush,” he said. They had all the time in the world.


End file.
